


Plastic Flamingo

by Alphabetaomega



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angsty as all fuck, Based off a song, Can you handle it?, Completed, Cuddles, Death, F/M, Fighting, Fluff and Angst, Forever and Always, Forgiveness, I bet you can't, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Parachute, Read the fucking archive warnings, SO MUCH ANGST GUYS, Sheriff Knows, relationship is already established
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:32:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphabetaomega/pseuds/Alphabetaomega
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek finally works up the nerve to purpose... sort of. The unthinkable happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plastic Flamingo

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song: Forever and Always by Parachute.  
> yeah. My beta is literally the best person ever.

“Good morning,” Stiles laughs lazily, and smacks Derek’s hands away from his stomach where his fingertips trace gentle patterns across his skin.

In response, Derek just exhales through his nose and pushes his head further into Stiles’s jaw. The stubble that coats his chin and cheeks, ghosts lightly across Stiles’s collar bone. Derek’s hand doesn’t return to Stiles’s stomach, instead he drapes his arm languidly over the boy’s ribcage.

A shiver runs through Stiles, making his spine tingle. He takes a deep breath, not wanting to move and potentially disturb Derek.

They’re all long limbs, wrapped up in the blankets of Stiles’s bed. The blankets have been long un-tucked from the end and now lay in a pile on top of them. Cool air brushes the tips of his toes, jolting Stiles further awake.

Downstairs, his father drops a drying pan and curses loudly. The noise of the metal hitting the ground is like a gun shot in the morning silence. Derek jumps in surprise and the top of his head slams into the bottom Stiles’s jaw.

They both groan.

“Ow,” Stiles grumbles and rearranges himself to be eye level with Derek.

“Not my fault,” Derek’s eyes are still closed when he responds.

“You made me bite my tongue,” he sticks the muscle between his bottom and top row of teeth. The taste of copper explodes over his taste buds. “How am I supposed to taste things now?”

Derek huffs at Stiles, his voice still gravelly from sleep, “Don’t worry, you’ll heal.”

Stiles buries himself further into the blankets and ponders, “You know how taste buds change every two weeks?” He doesn’t wait for Derek’s response or acknowledgement before continuing, “How come we don’t start to like different foods too? I mean, I guess we do, like when I was younger I really hated asparagus... like the stuff was the bane of my existence. My father use to threaten me with asparagus instead of threatening to take my laptop or cell phone away. Now I love the stuff.”

“To an unnatural extent,” Derek adds, remembering Stiles’s weird asparagus obsession.

“Could my taste buds suddenly decide to start hating asparagus again?” He sticks his injured tongue back out.

Whether Derek smells the blood that pricks on Stiles’s tongue or not, he tries to kiss him to shut him up. Since his eyes are still closed he misses by a long shot and plants one by the side of Stiles’s nose instead.  

“I’m guessing that your werewolf senses don’t work in the morning?” Stiles smiles at his boyfriend and says, “Why don’t you open your eyes and try that again?”

Derek sighs and reluctantly opens his eyes just enough to let the morning wash out the darkness of his slumber. “Just get over here,” he demands; though Stiles is only five inches away, at the most.

“Nope,” Stiles replies.

Derek closes his eyes again and buries his face into his pillow, “Fine.”

The younger of the pair sticks his cold toes between Derek’s legs and complains, “But my tongue.”

“Oh my God,” Derek groans with fake irritation and unburies himself from the pillow. “Your feet are freezing,” he says as he gives Stiles a quick and lazy kiss. “Happy now?”

“As a clam,” is Stiles’s smug reply.

The morning light hits the air above Stiles’s head in a way that makes all of the dust particles visible. He sighs, feeling content and happy, wondering what day it is. If he has the month right, then his fifth year anniversary with Derek should be coming up soon.

Five years, Stiles thinks to himself, five whole fricken years. He doesn’t count the few half-assed and nondescript break-ups that have peppered the course of their relationship along the way.

 How anybody has managed to hold onto him for this long, he’ll never know.

After a few moments, Derek rolls over so that Stiles won’t be tempted to wake him up again; even though in Stiles’s defense, it’s all Derek’s fault he’s awake in the first place.

“Remember the first time we cuddled?” Stiles rests his forehead against the back of Derek’s shoulders.

Derek snorts, “...no.”

This time Stiles is the one who snorts, “Yeah, neither do I.”

After a few moments, “I remember the first time we kissed.”

Stiles smiles, “I remember that too. Sort of.”

He remembers being seventeen and jumping headfirst at any challenge that came his way. He also remembers all the first’s and milestones he went through with Derek and how awkward and unprepared, but willing, he was to experience them.

Almost five years later, they’re both still learning as time goes on. Stiles, how to live in the same space as another person, and Derek how to live with other people in general. Granted, the beginning of their relationship was rocky. Neither of them knew how to handle the others weird quirks. Especially in regards with Stiles’s ADHD quirks: like interrupting other people mid-sentence or leaving everything a messy wake of destruction everywhere he went.  

Their first summer together took the edge off things long enough for them to find out if what they were getting into was right for both of them. Long enough for Stiles to think about what being an Alpha wolf’s mate really meant. Long enough for him to think about what being Derek’s boyfriend really meant.

“I’m shocked that you don’t remember our first kiss,” Derek says sarcastically. He rolls over just enough to make eye contact with Stiles, his posture loose and unguarded.

“I remember that it wasn’t any fairy tale kiss. It sucked.” Stiles defends.

“It only sucked because we were about to die.” Derek laughs through his hazy slumber and squints at the sun like it offends him.

It’s in that moment when Stiles realizes that he’s having the kind of morning that he’s only read about in Scott’s secret stash of romance novels. In one of the books he read, the main character wakes up to the chill of winter wafting in through the tiny cracks of the window frame. The cold isn’t what wakes her up though, it’s her boyfriend running his fingers through her hair that rouses her.

He’s having the kind of perfect morning where the sunlight pours in sheer, like a veil. Distracted Stiles forgets what they were talking about; he doesn’t try too hard to remember.

He almost laughs, thinking about how six years ago, he never would've guessed this is where his life would end up; having a novel-worthy morning with the most perfect, emotionally stunted werewolf he has ever met.

Stiles does eventually fall victim to sleep though because he wakes up to see his father leaned against his door frame. His eyebrows knot together in the middle which is an expression Stiles knows only means one thing: concern.

“What?” He asks his father.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing an exonerated criminal sleeping in the same bed as my son,” Sheriff says pointedly.

Stiles squints, his eyes bothered from the reflected light off his father’s deputy badge and says, “He’s an “almost-criminal”...” his gaze travels over to Derek and he tells his father, “We don’t like to talk about that.”

“Okay well,” Sheriff scratches the back of his head, “It’s nice that you and Derek stay over here every once in awhile so that I get to see you and everything... and I know that you’re a grown boy- I mean man. You’re a grown man, and you can make your own decisions-”

“Dad,” Stiles interrupts, “Is there a point to this conversation?”

“I’m getting there. Do you and Hale have to sleep so...,” Sheriff gestures something invisible with his hands.

Stiles gestures wildly back, motioning for his father to finish his sentence, “So, what?”

“So naked.”

“No, we don’t have to sleep naked dad. We sleep naked because we want too.” Stiles doesn’t even bother filtering his thoughts. He sassily adds, “Did you and mom have to sleep naked?”

Sheriff looks from Stiles to the floor and rolls his eyes, “I’m not going to answer that. I just came to tell you that breakfast is on the table and I’m working late tonight. You have class right?” he doesn’t wait for Stiles to respond, “I want you to promise me that you’ll be careful.”

Stiles grimaces, “Are we talking... sexually careful or a different careful- because if we’re talking about... if you mean sexually careful then dad, you are about five years too late with this conversation.”

Sheriff completely dismisses the completely serious and irrelevant commentary. He doesn’t want to think about what his son does in his free time other than being a good citizen. “There have been a couple of attacks these past few days. They’re a lot like the mountain lion case we took on back when you were in high school, but the attack pattern this time around is too erratic to be a mountain lion.” Sheriff sighs, “The attacks in general are far too violent to be from a mountain lion. I’m starting to think this is werewolf related,” he makes a point to sound like he really hopes it’s not werewolf related.

“Not to worry, dad. If it is, I have Derek as a shield.” Stiles yawns and thumps Derek in the shoulder with his knuckles.

They’ve known about the attacks for as long as Sheriff has known about Derek and Scott being werewolves, A.K.A not very long. The police are just as stumped as the pack is, as to what is going on. Derek has a strong feeling its werewolf shenanigans, but no one has claimed any responsibility yet.

Regardless of how united they stand as a partly human pack; they’re all on high alert, not wanting to take any chances. In fact, the more Stiles thinks about the threat, the more it makes sense that Derek would be sneaking in his window on a school night.

Sheriff smiles at his son, who easily reminds him of his late wife, ease and ferocity hardwired into both their spirits. Stiles has inherited the slight of his mother's smile and the curve of her nose. These features have become much more prominent over the last few years with Stiles finally growing past puberty.

 It makes Sheriff hope that maybe her nose and smile aren’t the only things Stiles inherited from her. Maybe he’d inherited all of her best traits too, like her resilience. That would mean Stiles would be better off than he ever was going through high school and college.

“If you promise me that you’ll be careful then Derek won’t have to be used as a shield. Okay,” Sheriff says, “I’ll see you later.”

“Well played dad, well played. I’ll see you later too! Stay away from salty foods; I’ll make us something healthy tonight!” Stiles calls after his father’s retreating footsteps. He turns to the lump of a person next to him and says, “Derek, I’m hungry.”

“Eat,” is all he offers back.

“Let’s have breakfast.”

“No.”

“Oh come on, please?”

“No.”

“Why not?” He slouches himself over Derek’s side, ignoring the grunts of protest from the older man. “Why are you so tired? Shouldn’t I be the tired one?” Stiles laughs and pulls Derek so that he’s on his back and Stiles is propped up on one elbow, next to him. “Don’t tell me I wore you out last night,” he teases.

Derek mumbles, “Maybe.”

Stiles smirks and flicks Derek in the stomach. “Come on, It’s 11:30 and I have class at three. You never sleep this late!”

“I was out all night,” Derek groans.

“What were you doing?” Stiles off-handedly adds, “I mean before you flopped into bed with me.”

Derek sits up and his hair sticks out everywhere. He yawns and runs his hands through his wild jet black tufts and says, “Some field work.”

“Until three in the morning?”

“No. I did some field work, then went home and then came here.” Derek offers unconvincingly. “We know that whatever we’re dealing with is… larger than a werewolf.”

“Oh great... maybe another one of our friends has turned into a giant lizard. Who went with you?”

“Scott.”

Stiles jumps out of bed and stretches, his spine pops as he does, “Really? I’m surprised you didn’t try and kill him. Since when were you two best buddies?”

“Since now.”

Scott and Derek never really got past their weird authority issues. Whenever they have to work together, Stiles usually acts as a buffer between the two “leaders”.

Stiles throws on the first clothes he sees and when Derek doesn’t move from the bed, he tosses a pair of jeans his way.

“Come on, let’s eat,” he says.

Two pieces of toast, three eggs, and some Nutella later, they sit at the kitchen table. Derek sips his coffee while Stiles nurses his mythology paper on werewolves.

“I’m confusing myths with the legitimate stuff I know about werewolves. How does this sound,” he deepens his voice for dramatic effect, “Werewolves are believed to have grotesque hair all over their bodies, the exceptions being, Remus from Harry Potter who looks like a giant naked cat, and my boyfriend Derek who only grows a beard.”

Derek takes a sip of coffee, “That’s A+ work right there.”

Stiles replies sarcastically, “Thanks.”

“Don’t wait up for me tonight,” he says as he places his coffee cup in the sink.

“Why not?” Stiles questions, fingers tapping away on his laptop keyboard.

“There’s no reason to,” Derek shrugs, “I’ll be out pretty late.”

“Out doing what?”

“Patrolling.”

At this, Stiles turns away from the computer screen to stare at Derek, “But Scott can’t tonight. He’s got class with me.”

Derek doesn’t say anything and turns back around towards the sink, “Then, I’ll go with Isaac.”

“I didn’t think Isaac is back from Boston...” Stiles rises out of his chair and moves towards the sink with his empty plate and cup.

Now that he’s standing toe to toe with Derek he senses something is wrong. Derek meets his eyes but only for a second before looking away.

Times like these Stiles really wishes he had some werewolf powers of his own.

“Well,” Stiles begins, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to patrol alone.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Derek says.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think you can totally handle yourself, but until we know what we’re up against-,”

Derek reiterates, “It’s not a big deal.”

“Stop interrupting me.”

“You do it all the time,” Derek mumbles to himself.

Just then, Derek’s phone goes off. The ringer cuts through the tension between them. Derek fishes it out of his pocket and looks at the number. He lets it go to voicemail before putting it away.

Stiles continues on like Derek’s phone never rang, “I just don’t want you going out alone really late at night. Just patrol tomorrow when Scott can go with you.”

“No, I’m going tonight.”

“Derek, you don’t have to go tonight. It’s not like you’re going to die if you don’t patrol tonight-”

“No, but someone else might die if I don’t patrol tonight.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Fine, then I’m coming with you.”

“No you’re not. You’re not going to skip class tonight.” Derek bites out and puts some intentional distance between him and Stiles, walking back towards the table.

“I think that keeping good ol’ Beacon Hills supernatural-free is way more important than my mythology class.”

“Stiles, you’re not coming with me.”

“Why not?”

“Just let it go,” Derek says, his phone starts ringing again but he ignores it.

“No can do. Why can’t I go with you?”

“Because I don’t want you to get hurt,” Derek says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I won’t get hurt, I’ll bring a gun.”

“You have class tonight.”

“I’ll skip class.”

“Stiles, no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not going to let you.”

“Jesus Christ well, I’m going to come whether you like it or not. I’ll probably end up having to save your ass somehow anyway.”

Derek paces by the front door. “Why do you have to go and do the exact opposite of what I ask?”

“Because believe it or not, your instinct kind of sucks.”

Derek makes a face, “You’re not going to come with me, Stiles. You’re not going to because you’re a human and you know as well as I do that if something happened, you wouldn’t heal from it.”

“If I was a werewolf you’d let me come with you.” He says automatically.

Derek avoids Stiles’s eyes when he says, “Yes. At least you’d be less fragile.”

“I can take care of myself.” Stiles retorts bitterly, his voice louder. 

“I know that.”

“Then let me come with you, Derek. Seriously, don’t go patrolling alone.”

“Stiles, I’m not going to let you come with me because I don’t want you to get hurt; it’s that simple.” Shoulders squared and jaw line set, Derek crosses his arms exasperated.

Stiles doesn’t miss a beat, voice rising further, “Well, I don’t want you to get hurt either! Yet I don’t have the closure of knowing that you’re sitting at home, like I am, and away from whatever is out there in the forest killing people!”  

Derek’s cell phone goes off again. He just lets it ring.

“Derek, just don’t go tonight,” Stiles groans. The chair shrieking against the floor when he drops back onto it.

“Stiles, holy- I have too.” Derek stares at him incredulously.

“No you don’t. You don’t have to do anything, you stubborn mother of fuck. Just go tomorrow.”

“No.”

“Okay seriously, you’re being really weird. Like, weirder than that one Thanksgiving where my dad gave you the, _“I know you’ve been sneaking into my son’s window at ungodly hours, you almost delinquent. I have a gun and will shoot you with it,”_ talk while he was putting stuffing up the turkey’s ass. Is there something wrong that I don’t know about?”

“No,” Derek cringes, “Don’t talk about that. I don’t keep anything from you. There’s nothing going on that you don’t know about.”

“Then why are you being so stubborn?” Stiles runs his fingers through the front of his hair, fisting the wild tufts.

Derek shrugs his shoulders and his phone rings again.

“Holy sweet mother of God, Derek just answer it,” Stiles bites out. “Whoever is on the other line is clearly dying to get in touch with you.”

“No.”

Stiles sighs, his paper long forgotten, “Are you being a pain in the ass, just to be a pain in the ass? Because it’s working, you’re a pain in the ass.” Stiles sags in his chair, defeated.

“No, I’m not. You’re honestly being a little ridiculous.” Derek hovers near the door.

“I think you mean, awesome. I’m honestly a little awesome.” His lips curling up. He sighs in mock disappointment, “We were having such a nice morning too.”

Derek thinks about saying, _“you’re always awesome”_ , but given the circumstance of Stiles being an asshole, he decides to leave that part out. Instead, he rolls his eyes and says, “Don’t accuse me of ruining our morning.”

“You didn’t ruin it. You just made it less enjoyable.”

Derek rolls his shoulders forward and takes a sharp step toward the door, “Will you stop hounding me about the stupidest shit?”

“I don’t?” Stiles asks, eyebrows creased in confusion.

“Yes you do.”

“Not all the time.”

“Enough to be annoying.”

Stiles sharply raises his eyebrows, “Don’t be a dick.” The statement coming out less harsh than he wanted.

“I’m not trying to be a dick, I’m trying to tell you the truth.”

The surprise is replaced with boiling offense, “What, that I’m annoying?” He snaps.

“No, that you’re human and you’re fragile and I can’t always protect you.”

“I know that.” Stiles says dismissively.

Derek cranes his neck forward, looking unblinkingly at his boyfriend, “Then I don’t understand why you’re still arguing with me.”

Stiles doesn’t know why Derek hasn’t just left yet. “Because I can protect myself.”

Derek scoffs, “A baseball bat and a gun can only get you so far.”

Stiles knows the look on his face must be a really appalled one because Derek looks ready to take back the words he just said the moment they’re out of his mouth.

“Just go tomorrow,” Stiles says coldly, the venom in his voice apparent.

“No.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yep.” Derek opens the front door, “I’m leaving and I’m dead serious Stiles, don’t fucking come near the woods. I’ll come home early.”

“No promises,” Stiles grumbles, just to piss Derek off.

“Stiles,” Derek sighs and looks out towards the street, “Just please?”

“Sure, fine, whatever. Go do your wolf business and potentially get killed while I sit in a fucking classroom for five hours.” Stiles waves him off and slumps back into his chair.

Derek waits another minute. Before leaving he leans against the door frame and glances back at Stiles. “Love you,” he says, but his voice is caught in the wind.

Stiles looks up from his laptop long enough to see Derek disappear through the door. “Love you too...” he says quietly, knowing that Derek most likely hears him.

Stiles is beyond irritated after Derek leaves. He can barely focus on the rest of his paper and decides to bull shit the rest of his information. He doesn’t want Derek patrolling alone with some secret werewolf murderer who won’t bother to spare his pretty face.

By 2:45 he’s so late that he doesn’t even bother taking a shower and just emails his teacher the mythology paper. He looks around his room and groans, knowing that he should’ve put his books in his backpack the night before. Stiles grabs school materials from various parts of his room and shoves them haphazardly into his backpack.

He vaguely feels like he’s forgetting something important when he gets into his jeep. He has no time to check though because he’s got fifteen minutes to get to class and the local college is at least twenty minutes away. On his way, Stiles pushes the speed limit by more than he’ll ever let his dad know.

The walk across the campus is short and the sun hides behind light gray clouds. Stiles doesn’t think about how Derek’s running around in the woods against his wishes. He gets to class late, but luckily his professor doesn’t mind. He’s a pretty good student, and this is college after all.

His Mythologies class is two hours long and then he has an English class after that for two and a half hours. The English class is in a completely different part of the campus which is a hassle. Stiles won’t get home until the sun has set. He wonders if Derek will be home by then, or if when he said he’ll be “home early” he meant something like midnight.

Stiles takes a seat close to the back of the room next to a girl he went to high school with. He digs around his backpack for his cell phone. There are loose papers and random knickknacks he’d shoved in his backpack at the last minute, but no cell phone. He curses, that must be what he forgot at home.

Great, he thinks to himself. Now he has no way to get in touch with anyone. The absence of having his phone by his side really bothers him. It also forces him notice that Scott hasn’t shown up for class.

Stiles can’t really pay attention during class. He’s too preoccupied with frustrating thoughts about his boyfriend. He doesn’t understand why Derek has to be so goddamn headstrong all the time. Like, is it really that big of a deal to put off patrolling until tomorrow? Stiles is stubborn sure, but at least he can be reasoned with. He flips his pencil in between his fingers and sighs at his desk. Nothing makes sense to him right now.

He understands why Derek’s so grouchy about him staying out of harm’s way. He gets that Derek’s life hasn’t been all kittens and sunshine, but it still pisses him off when Derek repeatedly demands he stay home. If he stays home, then he has no clue what’s going on. If he has no clue what's going on, then how is he suppose to be the group’s uber useful book worm/researcher? Stiles wishes he’d said that to Derek before he left this morning.

The sound of ambulance sirens whizzing past the window jolts Stiles out of his day dream. He drops his pen cap on the floor and slumps his shoulders in defeat when it glides halfway across the room. The loud pitched noise drowns the professor’s voice causing him to momentarily stop his lecture until the ambulance goes by.

Stiles goes back to chewing on his capless-pen, not paying attention in the least to his teachers monotonous voice.

A few minutes later the sound of heavy footfalls racing down the hall is heard. Stiles looks up from his desk just in time to see Scott wrench the classroom door open with a little more force than necessary and bound inside. It’s a good think Scott has got a handle on his werewolf strength, because if this situation was set a few years back he would’ve undoubtedly just pulled the door off its hinges.

Stiles frowns at his best friend whom stands in the middle of his classroom, winded, out of breath, and looking like he just got slammed by a semi-truck. Confused at first, a thought dawns on Stiles and he smugly whispers, “I emailed it,” knowing that Scott can hear him.

Scott looks at him in abject horror.

“My paper,” Stiles clarifies, assuming the reason for Scott being late is that he was rushing to get his paper finished.

“Mr. McCall,” the professor starts.

“I need Stiles,” Scott gasps out. He rushes over to Stiles’s desk and picks up his friends backpack.

“What,” Stiles looks at Scott, completely baffled. His eyebrows knit together in confusion, “Dude-,”

“It’s a family emergency,” Scott bites out through his teeth. “Come on, we don’t really have a lot of time.”

Stiles freezes for a moment, hands hovering. “What happened?” he asks, not caring that the rest of the classroom is staring at him. The look Scott plasters on his face is enough to jumpstart his bones into moving again. He scrambles up from his seat and starts shoving his laptop and notebook into his laptop case. “Is it my dad?” His voice doesn’t waiver.

Their professor raises a questioning and judgmental eyebrow at the two boys, “Is there a problem?”

“Family emergency,” Stiles responds. He grabs his backpack from Scott and swings it over his own shoulder.

Scott is looking at the teacher for approval, but Stiles just shoves his way in front of Scott without looking back. He heads straight for the door.

“It’s Derek,” Scott says once they’re in the hallway. “Something happened, and he’s being rushed to the hospital.”

Stiles’s pace waivers, feet dragging on the floor while he just stares at Scott, face neutral. He starts running down the hall with Scott on his heels. He tells himself not to think about it until he’s outside. He doesn’t let himself think of the ambulance that just whirled passed the school, sirens screaming out. He only thinks about getting to his jeep fast enough that his legs don’t have time to collapse under him.

Stiles fumbles getting his keys out of his pockets. He doesn’t register how his hands are shaking until he tries to manually unlock the car’s door and misses, twice.

“What happened?!” Stiles doesn’t even try to keep his volume down. Once he unlocks the car he dives inside and steels himself, starting the jeep in record time.

Scott dives in the passenger seat after him. He’s wearing the hoodie that Stiles gave him a while back when they were in high school. It had been a congratulations gift for becoming co-captain of the Cyclones.

 “Is that blood!?” Stiles says, head tilting to the matted red stains on Scott’s sweatshirt. “Oh my god.”

He runs his hands through his hair and sinks into his seat. His heart is beating so fast he worries that there might be something actually wrong with him.

“Yeah,” Scott says, and adds quickly, “I’m fine now though. We we’re attacked.”

“Derek was?” Stiles violates several driving laws peeling out of the school parking lot.

“No,” Scott shifts gingerly in his seat, as if every movement caused him great pain. “Isaac and I were attacked when we were patrolling. Derek must’ve sensed that Isaac was in trouble because he came out of nowhere and intervened.”

“Wait, Derek wasn’t patrolling with you?” Stiles takes a deep breath, things getting worse and more confusing by the second.

“No, Isaac and I were patrolling alone.” The jeep thuds over a pothole, jolting the boys. Scott yelps in paint from the jerky movement, and then continues, “Derek had other things to do.”

If there wasn’t anything wrong with his heart before, there is now because Stiles can hear the erratic thump in his ears.

Apparently, Scott hears it too because he looks over at Stiles and says, “Calm down, calm down, that’s not what I mean. I mean, that came out wrong. Uh, Derek had things to do, like he- I think. I think he had other things to do. Probably not, I mean. He was probably scheduled to patrol and I just forgot.”

“He made a big stink about it this morning. He said that he had to patrol today. Wouldn’t you and Isaac have sensed his presence in the woods though?”

Scott shrugs, “Not really…”

Stiles lets out a shaky breath and rolls through a stop sign. “Tell me what happened,” he demands.

“Isaac and I were patrolling and we were kind of bored so we decided to joke around and like… play tag.”

“Tag, are you- oh my god just continue.”

“And the creature came out of nowhere, Stiles. It was utterly massive like, ‘shit-my-pants’ size. It barreled through the woods, like I’m telling you it took down trees. It happened really fast, we were surprised how strong it was. It threw us around for a bit and we fought back but Isaac and I knew that we were in over our heads with this one.”

Scott lifts up the hem of his shirt over his ribcage. It’s a familiar sight to Stiles and reminds him of when Scott showed him where Peter Hale sank his teeth. Scott’s skin is severely discolored. Stiles has never seen bruises quite like it. They’re so deep that instead of black and blue they’re just black with a tint of purple on the edges. Like a bruise on top of a bruise on top of another bruise.

Stiles tears his eyes away from his friends torso and asks, “What happened after that?”

“I was thrown into a tree, broke it in half. Right after, Derek showed up. I don’t really know what happened next because I was really out of it. It has these claws, kind of like the Kanima did. But instead of paralyzing people they get in the way of our healing.”

Stiles starts zoning out and runs a red light. A truck blows its horn as it passes in front of the jeep. His heart shoots to the top of his mouth, an emotional response he’s only experienced from driving. He steps on his brakes hard enough that the wheels screech. Scott jerks forward in his seat and since he’s not wearing a seatbelt, his hands move to brace himself on Stiles’s windshield.

“You’re not healing?!” Stiles almost screams.

“No, I am healing… just really slowly. Like really slowly.”

“Then... Derek?”

Scott rests his head against the passenger door window and looks like he’s going to be sick. “He’s healing.”

“But, slowly?”

“Yeah, really slowly and depending on how deep his wounds are, I don’t know if his body will have enough strength to repair itself. Why don’t you have your cell phone on you?”

Voice dropping to a soft whisper, “I forgot it today.”

When they reach the hospital, the ambulance is just pulling away from the front entrance. Scott barley gets his hand on the car door when Stiles abruptly pulls in, parks on the curb, and rips the key out of the ignition.

Stiles doesn’t move right away and vaguely registers that he’s going to have a panic attack. He doesn’t know when his mind got so foggy and his perception started to distort. His breathing starts off shallow, and logically Stiles knows that he’s getting enough air into his lungs, but it doesn’t feel like it so he starts freaking out. He stumbles out of his jeep, mentally berating himself to calm down.

He leans against the side of his jeep, wondering how everything can be moving so fast and how every sound around him is suddenly amplified. The sounds come in patterns, in steady rhythms and he picks up on the faster ones. Stiles slides down the side of his jeep, his heart suddenly racing, in tune to the repetitive sound he’s hearing.

The attack feels like he’s experiencing a crescendo. Every second gets gradually worse, until he literally feels like he can’t handle it.

“Stiles!” Scott crouches down beside his friend. “Stiles!” he repeats.

In his head, Stiles responds to Scott’s call. However, even as he tries, his throat refuses to open and acknowledge this. “I can’t-,”

“Okay uhm,” Scott looks around for any stray nurse that could possibly help him. Seeing none, he turns his attention back to Stiles and reaches out to touch him on the shoulders. “Breathe,” he says, “Breathe, just breath. Okay, everything is going to be fine. Derek will be fine.”

Stiles can’t hold back his breathing from becoming heaving gasps, “Scott-,” he warns.

“Okay, okay, so maybe Derek won’t be totally fine right away. But look, he’s inside and we’re outside and we’re not doing anything for him by being out here. Just breath, I’m right here, okay?”

Scott’s voice interrupts and breaks the patterns of sounds around Stiles until he can no longer latch onto the steady rhythm. His perception begins to clear, but he still isn’t quite sure what’s going on.

“Remember the end of our sophomore year of high school?” Scott says quietly, “Remember that day on the lacrosse field when you told me that even though I was right back where I began, I still had you? Well, you still got me, too. And we’ll figure this out together.” Scott gets right up in Stiles’s face and he repeats, “Just breath.”

Stiles calms down enough to nod back; making a mental note to buy Scott at least two hundred containers of his favorite vanilla frosting when this is all just water under the bridge.

The transition out of his attack is a slow one. His heart is still ramming away at light speed but at least he can control his breathing. Stiles pushes Scott’s steadying hands away when he wobbles getting to his feet. After he forces himself to get a grip, they head for the entrance of hospital.

 Melissa spots Scott almost immediately inside the lobby and wraps him in a hug. “Scott!” She cries, “Thank God you’re okay!”

Scott groans into his mothers shoulder, wincing at the pressure she puts on his bruises. He loosely hugs her back knowing how worried she must’ve been.

“Where’s Derek?” Stiles frantically demands.

“Uhm, he’s, in the emergency room, they’ll probably transfer him to the ICU after. Your father went with the doctors.”

“Where is that?”

Melissa releases Scott and points down a lit hall, “It’s down there and to the left and all the way down that hall and take another left and it’s in that hallway. You can’t see him though, Stiles. He’s being operated on. Last I checked he was in critical condition and you won’t be able to see him until he’s stabilized.”

“Don’t care,” Stiles says quickly and starts walking fast down the hall. Once he’s out of Melissa’s sight he thinks, _screw the rules_ , and starts to jog down the hall.

Scott moves to follow after Stiles and gets to the entrance of the hallway before folding over in pain. He clutches his side and groans, the sharp spikes of pressure welling up his throat. His mother calls his name and runs to him. All Scott sees is bright color whirling past him. He reaches his hand down to steady himself and realizes just how hot he feels when his hands touch the cold tiles.

“I’m going to puke,” he tells his mother.

“Okay,” she jumps up and grabs the trash bin from behind the service desk and gives it to Scott just in time for him to empty his stomach.

Melissa feels her son’s forehead and says, “You’re running a fever. Maybe you’re coming out of shock?”

“No,” Scott moans, “Feels worse than a fever.”

He feels like his stomach is bubbling, like it’s trying to digest something it can’t.

“We have to get you in a room-,”

“No!” Scott pushes against the wall and gets to his feet, “I have to see Stiles, I have to be there for him. It’s important.”

The look in Scott’s eyes tells Melissa that this isn’t arguable. She hesitantly nods and helps Scott down the hall. They move slowly and Scott has to stop several times and steady himself.

When they reach Derek’s room, it’s utter chaos. Doctors and nurses are running in and out yelling to each other in a medical language that Scott can’t even begin to understand. The yelling doesn’t last long before they bring in surgeons and a special team; Scott assumes they’re all just general doctors though.

He spots Stiles sitting on the floor, away from most of the chaos, with his back against the wall. Next to Stiles is the Sheriff, who looks worn out under the bright hospital lights. Scott moves to go next to Stiles when a nurse stops him.

“You can’t be down here right now,” She says urgently.

“I’m with them,” Scott points to Stiles and the Sheriff.

The nurse looks back uncertainly and motions for the Sheriff’s attention. “Is he with you?” she asks.

“Yeah,” the Sheriff says back.

“Ok, but no one else is allowed to be here. We can make an exception for you, but only just this once.” She says and walks away.

As Scott walks over to his friend he tries to ignore the sounds of doctors trying to stop Derek’s bleeding from inside the emergency room. He can still smell the cold air on Derek’s clothes; and in the scent of dirt and sweat, he can still hear the sound of grass being pulled from the Earth.

He sits down next to Stiles and awkwardly wraps his arms around his friend. His wounds ache in protest, but he ignores them. Scott suddenly feels exhausted, there’s no more adrenaline left in him and his bruises feel like they’re alive and beating under his skin. He drops his forehead against Stiles’s shoulder.

Stiles rubs the palms of his hands over his eyes tiredly and says, “I fought with him earlier.”

“Who?” Scott questions, fighting really hard to stay awake.

“Derek. I had a fight with him earlier about patrolling alone. We started yelling at each other and stuff.”

Scott doesn’t know what to say back. He can’t think of anything that won’t come out as a lie. So, he just rubs his cheek against the soft fabric that coats Stiles’ boney shoulder.

“What if,” Stiles begins, “What if something happens to him and the last thing we did was fight? I feel so freaking sick.”

“M’sorry,” Scott mumbles, shivers running through his body.

By now, Stiles’s Adderall has run its course through his system and is no longer stunting his emotions. Usually, he’d be all over a situation like this. His whole body would be buzzing with uncontainable restless energy; his natural need to move around and fidget.

But as he sits on the hospital floor with Scott wrapped around him, he doesn’t fidget with the strings from his hooded sweatshirt or bother filling the silence with humor. He just sits with his head in his hands, and fights down the feeling of being empty.

Saliva begins to build in Stiles mouth; it’s the same feeling that always comes before he throws up, like a warning. “Oh shit,” Stiles groans. After a minute of fighting with his stomach, he swallows the bile in his throat and uncurls his body from being hunched over. The air is refreshing to his lungs, though he can’t squash the feeling of getting sick.

He rubs his shaking hands on his knees and closes his eyes, “Oh god Scott, I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can. So can Derek.”

Stiles shakes his head and feels like crying, “I don’t know.”

“I don’t know either.” Scott lifts his head from Stiles’s shoulder to give the other boy some space, but he leaves his arms loosely wrapped around him. “He’ll be okay. Hell, he’s managed to escape death plenty of other times, why should this time be any different?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says weakly. “Everything is just so confusing, why the hell did he have to argue with me about patrolling if he wasn’t even going to patrol? Oh my god.”

Scott shrugs, face hidden.

The ground they’re sitting on is cold. In the following three hours that they wait, though it warms up to the temperature of their skin, its hard surface gives no comfort. 

In the first hour, the doctors get Derek’s bleeding to slow and stop. They have little trouble locating the main source of all the blood, because the wound is open and obvious. The skin on Derek’s stomach is torn open. The gashes are deep enough that his insides are visible. The specialized team races to get Derek somewhat stabilized.

Through the walls, Scott can hear Derek’s faint heart beat against all of the commotion.

In the second hour the doctors begin operating on the unconscious werewolf. They carefully maneuver debris and dirt from his wounds, and assess how much internal damage Derek has and what they can do about it.

Derek’s fever starts to climb when the third hour rolls around. He’s still unconscious, but his body starts to sweat. One of the nurses asks if he’s possibly having an allergic reaction to one of the many medications they’re pumping through his system. The surgeon says he doubts it.

Scott goes back to resting his head on Stiles’s shoulder and eventually his fever makes him groggy enough to shut his eyes. He doesn’t know how long he stays with his eyes closed before he feels Stiles start to shake. “Stiles?” he lifts his head up and says through his head fog.

When Stiles doesn’t respond, Scott lets a concerned noise slip from his lips. He doesn’t have to see Stiles’s face to know he’s crying, the air around them smells like salt. The tears gather in the wrinkles of Stiles open palms as he cries quietly into his hands.

“I hate feeling this. When my mom died, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t cry at first, I just sat in the waiting room for my dad. When I saw him come through those hospital doors though, I ran to him and clung to him faster than my brain could process. That’s when I cried. I cried because I had never felt such an intense loneliness and longing than I did in that small space of time between my mom’s passing and my dad’s arrival. I cried because I missed the way her nightgown felt when she would let me curl up with her before bed time, and…”

More often than not, Scott wishes that he couldn’t smell emotion. He never really learned how to make himself impervious to the emotion being felt, especially with Stiles. When Stiles emits a strong emotion, not only does Scott pick up on it, he begins to feel it as well.

Right now, Scott’s keenly aware of the distress and warped stress coming from Stiles; and feels like crying too. He rubs his friends back in circles, because he doesn’t know what else he can say that he hasn’t already said.

“When my father was taken by Jennifer,” Stiles sniffles, “I was so scared that I was going to be alone. I was scared of feeling that endless loneliness; I couldn’t lose both of them. Now, with Derek… I just, I can’t. I’ve told myself time after time that it’s only me who chooses what path I take in life. I know that I’ve chosen a dangerous one, and it threatens my life and those of whom I love every other week at least. I know that at any moment any of us could be seriously hurt, but it hasn’t gotten any easier to let go. Even after all the death we’ve seen, it hasn’t gotten any easier.”

By nine pm. Derek is moved to the ICU. This puts a little more life into Stiles, knowing that Derek’s not being poked and prodded with sharp medical tools. When they reach the ICU room, Scott’s mom orders Scott to stay in the room next door to Derek’s because she doesn’t want him moving too much with his fever and possible concussion.

“But, mom!” Scott protests.

“Just go, you look exhausted,” Stiles says, shouldering Scott towards the room. “Don’t worry man, I’ll be alright.”

“But, I want to be there-,”

“You are here. You’re just in the next room over.” Stiles places his hand on Scott’s shoulder, “I just… need some time, anyway. You know, alone.”

Scott grudgingly agrees and walks into the empty hospital room and drops onto the bed.

The surgeon who operated on Derek walks up to Stiles and his father and Melissa. He tells Stiles that Derek’s wounds are really severe and that they did what they could to stop him from bleeding out, but it looks like he’s going to need several other surgeries if and when he recovers.

On top of that, he’s running a fever which could mean he has some internal infection and if that’s that case then they can try to go in and treat the infection with antibiotics, but there’s no guarantee that they’ll do anything for him.

“If his fever persists,” The doctor continues, “his chances of surviving are close to none.”

“How close,” Stiles whispers.

The doctor hesitates, “Some people pull through cases like these. They’re miracles.”

“And if we don’t have a miracle?”

“The fever will override his systems and he won’t survive.”

At that point, the rest of the pack arrives at the ICU. Isaac looks pretty beat up with his arm in a cast for show and his nose black and purple.

“I’ve dealt with worse,” Isaac says when he catches Stiles looking him over.

Lydia, Allison, Erica, and Boyd all make Stiles look bored in comparison to the way they all seem to be vibrating with worry.

“Is he okay?” Isaac asks.

It’s Stiles’s father who responds to the beta, “No. Derek’s not healing.”

Lydia walks over to Stiles and grabs him in a tight hug. “We’ll be right behind you,” she whispers.

He hugs her back and lets out an exhausted sigh. He wipes his drippy nose onto his sweatshirt sleeve and moves to open the door of Derek’s ICU.

The pack piles into the ICU room. Fresh tears spring out of Stiles when he sees Derek. The Alpha has a long skinny tube down his nose and is hooked up to several different machines and IVs. His eyes are closed and there’s a light layer of sweat on his ashen skin.

The beep from the heart monitor is steady, but Stiles knows it’s too slow. He pulls a chair over to Derek’s bed while everyone else makes themselves comfortable.

Stiles reaches over and grabs Derek’s hand, wanting to be so much closer than Derek’s injuries allow. He rests his forehead face down on the side of the bed, and doesn’t really know the exact time he starts to doze off, but he’s woken by the feel of Derek’s fingers brushing up against his own.

His eyes fly open and he says excitedly, “Derek?”

At the sound of Derek’s name, Allison, Lydia, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Melissa, Sheriff, and even Scott, who seems to have rejoined them, get up from where they’re sitting.

Derek opens his mouth enough to let out a harsh breath. His eyes remain closed, but his grip on Stiles’s hand gets stronger.

“Don’t try to talk, okay?” Stiles warns in a hushed tone. He has to remind himself that it isn’t over yet; Derek isn’t okay yet.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says slowly, his voice a low grinding sound.

Stiles sits up straighter and rubs his eyes tiredly, “Don’t talk. You’re going to be fine.”

Derek moans in response, before opening his eyes.

The sight of Derek’s tricolored hazel eyes is so familiar to Stiles and makes his heart beat a little faster.

“Stop… crying.” Derek groans.

Stiles scoffs and rolls his eyes, “I thought you were dead,” he says through a clogged throat. “And stop talking.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Derek huffs out. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Derek starts coughing which makes his heart monitor beat faster which freaks Stiles and everyone else in the room out. Once Derek calms down, and his coughing fit has subsided, he unclenches his muscles and groans in pain.

“Truth is,” he says “I haven’t been patrolling that much.”

Stiles slouches over, once again fighting nausea, “What have you been doing?”

Derek closes his eyes again, “Can you reach into my left pocket?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles gingerly reaches into the pocket of Derek’s jeans. He tries really hard not to move him that much, as he does. His fingers brush against something soft and he pulls it out.

In his hand is a small box made of black velvet. What the hell? Stiles sits back in his chair and stares at the box. “What is-,”

Derek cuts him off, “This isn’t how I imagined it would go.” He says slowly, “I asked your dad for permission last week.”

Stiles looks over at his dad and raises his eyebrows. The Sheriff merely purses his lips and nods. There is sadness in his eyes.

“Open it,” Lydia says quietly.

Stiles opens the box and is floored at how he couldn’t recognize it was a standard fucking jewelry box a second ago. The ring inside is a simple yellow gold band. It gleams against the dark velvet around it.

Stiles takes a deep breath, feeling like he can’t breathe. “This is what you’ve been doing?”

“Yeah, it took me a while because at first I was going to get you-,”

“The ugliest ring ever,” Lydia interjects.

Derek doesn’t have the energy to say something witty and potentially degrading back to her so he just makes a small noise.

Stiles stares at the ring in his hand, “I don’t know what to say, or do, or… anything! I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Well,” Derek smiles, because he loves it when Stiles gets flustered, “I’m letting you in on my proposal plan.”

“But you’re not proposing?”

“I didn’t want to do it this way.” Derek closes his eyes and lets out a breath and if it wasn’t for his heart monitor Stiles would’ve thought he had just died. After a long moment when he re opens his eyes he says, “Yeah. I’m proposing.”

“Of course I’ll marry you, you big overgrown puppy.” Stiles says fondly. He takes the ring out and slips it onto his finger and stares at it.

The gold warms up to his skin almost immediately. He idly wonders how Derek knew his ring size since he doesn’t wear rings. He can’t figure out how he’s so happy and so sad at the same time. It’s awfully confusing. Stiles looks at Derek who’s breathing is shallow, and wants nothing more than to take him home and cuddle for eternity under piles of blankets.

“Dear god,” Derek coughs out. “Glad that’s off my chest.” He adds weakly.

The heart monitor beeps in the back ground.

“I have an idea,” Lydia says with excitement and practically runs out of the room. “Allison, Erica, come with me!”  Once all three girls are out of earshot Lydia turns to her friends and says, “Okay Erica, go find the chaplain. Allison, you and I are going to round up all the staff members we can get.”

The blonde beta looks at Lydia like she has three heads, “What’s a chaplain?”

“It’s a clergy member in a hospital or in the army or court or whatever and conducts any religious exercises. I know that this hospital has one.” Lydia says back.

“Like, a pastor person?”

Amused, Lydia purses her lips, “Yeah.”

Once Erica finds the chaplain she brings him to the ICU room where Lydia and Allison are standing outside with five staff members.

“Okay so, what are we doing?” Erica asks.

Allison shrugs and hugs herself with her arms, looking just as confused as everyone else.

“It’ll be fine!” Lydia turns and directs everyone into the room. They create a big semi-circle around the hospital bed. Once she gets inside and the confusion is doubled she turns to the chaplain and gives him a slight smile, “Can you perform a marriage ceremony?”

Allison smiles and goes to stand by Scott.

“I suppose so... but,” The chaplain says and scans the room.

“It’s kind of last minute, I know.” Lydia waves his uncertainty off. “Derek and Stiles,” she points to the werewolf on the bed and the boy sitting next to him.

The chaplain’s eyes widen when he sees Derek and he suddenly realizes the situation, “Okay.”

Stiles lets out a chuckle, “Is this really happening?”

Derek smiles too, “I guess so.” He draws in a shallow breath and draws his eyebrows together, “I’m so cold,” he mumbles.

One of the nurses walks over and checks a machine by Stiles. “His temperature isn’t regulating,” he says quietly.

Stiles thinks back to what the doctor told him about Derek’s fever, and pushes the statement completely out of his mind.

“Do you have the rings by any chance?” the chaplain asks.

“We have the engagement ring,” Stiles holds up his left hand. The gold band catches the light and gleams.

“Wait,” Sheriff Stilinski pushes off the wall and walks towards his son.

Stiles holds up his hands in front of him, “If you’re going to object or interject or whatever the fuck, I will-,”

“No, no,” Stiles’ father reaches under the collar of his shirt and sheriffs uniform and fingers a thin chain. On the end of the chain is his skinny rose gold hammered style wedding band. “I put it on for your mother’s birthday,” he says, “I know that it was over a month ago, but I haven’t gotten around to taking it off,” he finishes, almost shyly. Sheriff takes the ring off the chain and kneels down next to Derek. “I know how you wanted to use your fathers ring, but this’ll have to do.” He presses the rose gold band into Derek’s left palm.

Stiles sniffs, “Thanks dad.”

“No problem,” Sheriff says and grabs Stiles as he stands up and kisses him on the side of his head, “I love you, kid.”

“I love you too,” Stiles quietly responds.

The younger Stilinski watches his father retreat back into their circle of friends. Melissa places a supportive hand on the Sheriff’s shoulder as her other hand wipes at her tears.

Scott is teary eyed next to Allison. He smiles when he sees Stiles looking at him, “Congrats, man. Who would’ve thought you’d be the first to get married?” he jokes.

Stiles manages a small smile back, and says with very mild enthusiasm, “Hah, the wolf’s got jokes!”

Allison gives him her best smile too, “Congratulations, guys.”

Judging by the look on Lydia’s face, she doesn’t even realize how painfully close she is standing to the chaplain. Her strawberry blonde hair is tied in a messy pony tail and her mascara is starting to smudge a bit.

Her smile falters as she says quietly, “I always knew you two would end up together.”

“If that’s the case, you could’ve filled me in a bit sooner.”

Lydia’s eyes water and her voice cracks, but she quickly recovers, “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t let you figure it out on your own?”

Stiles rolls his eyes and thanks her, because in the end, it was Lydia who pushed him to try with Derek.

Erica leans her head on Boyd’s shoulder and smirks un-menacingly at Stiles. “Boyd and I had a bet going on which one of you would alpha up, and propose first.”

Stiles almost laughs, “Who did you guys bet on?”

“We both said that you would propose first. Isaac bet on Derek but he doesn’t count because he knew about Derek’s plan before any of us.”

From the bed, Derek directs a judgmental grunt at his betas.

“It all worked out in the end,” Isaac says voice barely above a whisper.

Stiles holds the blond werewolf’s gaze for a second, “Yeah,” he says back.

He turns back to the bed and slowly takes his father’s wedding ring from the palm of Derek’s hand and slips it on the Alpha’s finger. It’s a little loose, and might fit better on his thumb, but it’ll work. The rose gold tint complements Derek’s naturally light complexion.

“You’re not supposed to put it on yet,” Derek mumbles.

“Yeah well, this wouldn’t be the first time that I haven’t done what I’m supposed to do.” Stiles intertwines his fingers with Derek’s, unable to resist the temptation of being close with him.

Derek smiles then, with teeth and all, “That could be the title of your autobiography.”

Stiles smiles too, and looks into Derek’s eyes as he says, “I still want a pool.”

He thinks about the few nights they spent together unable to fall asleep, because it was either the anniversary of the Hale Fire or the anniversary of the day Stiles’s mother lost her fight with cancer. On those nights they would talk about anything and everything. Their possible future together, with a family, and a home, had been a very touchy subject for Derek. He had been fully content with staying silent the whole conversation and letting Stiles babble into the night.

The memory tugs on his heartstrings, “You promised me we could get a house with a pool and a Keurig.”

“And a big lawn so you could fill it with crappy plastic lawn ornaments shaped like flamingos,” Derek scrunches his nose at him. He sighs, “I promised you a lot of things.”

Stiles wants to tell Derek not to worry. It’s not the end of the world if they don’t end up in a glorious house with an equally glorious coffee maker and two dozen manufactured lawn birds. It’s not a big deal, because as long as they had each other, Stiles didn’t give two shits about the details. The words get caught in his throat though.

The chaplain stands at the foot of Derek’s bed. His hands are clasped together in absence of a bible. “We are here today to join these two in holy matrimony,” he beings.

He says a few verses, of which Stiles doesn’t hear because he’s focusing on the way Derek’s fingers curl and uncurl against his own.

When it comes time for the vows, Stiles scoots his chair impossibly closer and looks into Derek’s eyes, “Sorry if I sound like an idiot.” God, he thinks, what the fuck do people even say for these things? “I want you forever,” he starts and almost cringes at himself, “For the longest time I didn’t really understand the concept of “love”. I’d see Scott and Allison and think they were being pretty ridiculous, because all they wanted to do was be with each other and talk about each other and spend every waking moment with one another. Then when I realized that I liked you, something clicked, and I understood why they felt like that… because now I felt like that. I still feel like that. Somehow,” Stiles struggles with himself to find the right words, “Somehow, even after all this time, you still give me butterflies. And I hate the way you snore at night and leave your clothes everywhere, but I love that you remember things about me that I told you years ago and how you fold my laundry, but don’t bother with your own.” Stiles tries really hard not to cry, but he can’t help the tears that start to fall. “I love how you have these insane habits that you won’t change for anybody, and how you don’t expect me to change mine. And I could go on forever about how, and why I love the way we are, but I can’t think of anything else.” He rubs his nose some more and doesn’t bother with his eyes. Derek is holding his gaze, though his look is almost distant. “So, I want you; through the good and the bad… and the ugly. We’ll raise a couple of ankle biters, and totally grow old together. And… I know that whether happy or sad or whatever, we’ll still love each other.” Stiles wipes his eyes and his nose and says, “I love you Derek, always.”

He finishes his vows, but the beeps are getting too slow. A strained chuckle sounds through the room as tears fall to the floor. 

Barely audible, Derek says, “Even if I make promises I can’t keep?”

A laugh breaks through Stiles’s sadness, “I said, always, didn’t I?”

Derek hums, closes his eyes, and then starts his vows, “I love you forever, Stiles. Even though you’re hard to handle at times and you talk a lot, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I never thought that I’d have family again, but then you and the rest of the pack showed up and proved me wrong.  The past five years make up for the six I spent alone. I’ve never felt more whole. Please just remember, even if I’m not there… I’ll love you, always.”

Stiles lets his breath catch in his throat, “Promise?” he chokes out.

The ghost of Derek’s fingers brushing softly across the top of his hand is the only response he gets before the beeping from the heart monitor stops.

Both their left hands still twined together and completely bare save for the two wedding rings.

Stiles let’s himself cry into the curve of Derek’s wrist for a few moments. He presses his lips to the hot flesh, closes his eyes, and thinks about screaming.

 _Please, please, please_ , he repeats over and over in his head, but he doesn’t let himself finish that sentence; he doesn’t let himself mentally beg Derek not to leave him, because in his heart he knows there’s nothing he can do.

Sobering a bit, Stiles picks himself up, leans over Derek, and kisses him on his forehead. His tears trail down the curve of his nose and drip off, onto his late lover.

 _Why?_ He thinks to himself.

The piercing flat line ring from Derek’s heart monitor is suffocating in the silence of the room.

_Why?_

**Author's Note:**

> Did you love it... hate it... don't hate me please, it's just a story ;_;  
> I was thinking of writing a sequel based off Dark Paradise by Lana Del Rey.  
> Kudos... comments?  
> THIS WAS SO GRUELING TO WRITE HELLA FUCKING COOKIES.  
> alphafangs.tumblr.com


End file.
